Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
by persephone2
Summary: Josh and Donna and the missing scene from The Cold


Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Josh Lyman pushes the door open to the patio area of the bar and he can  
see Donna Moss from behind. Oh, God, she's let her hair down, he thinks, and   
even from behind she looks more beautiful than ever. As he approaches the  
table, he realizes that everything between them has changed now, shifted.   
Every look between them will have new meaning. He makes every effort to act  
nonchalant as he circles the table, even though his heart has picked up a few extra beats. He makes idle small talk, and takes the empty seat across from Donna.

He wants to look at her but he knows if he makes eye contact he'll lose all  
control and ravage her right here and now. He watches the others, pretends to be engaged, but doesn't really hear them, and then, he senses Donna's eyes on him and he has to look at her - cannot stop himself even if he tries. Has to see those glistening eyes, the glowing complexion, the hair falling around her face, and those lips. Dear God,  
those lips. Those sweet, delicious lips. He can still feel them on his - soft, supple, and so very receptive and inviting. When his eyes meet hers, he feels an electrical jolt through his whole body. What had he said to her earlier? "It was inappropriate"? He nearly laughs out loud at the memory and of how preposterous that idea was. After all these years of wanting to kiss Donna, now that he has, "inappropriate" is the last thing he thinks it was. He wants so much more, but he has to look away, cannot bear to look and not touch her.

She smiles, looks away, and then he watches as she lays her key on the   
table and slowly, seductively slides it toward him. He looks at her again  
and everything stops. All motion and sound around him cease to exist. There is  
only Donna. Holy mother of God, he thinks, Donna is giving me her key.   
Donna. Is. Giving. Me. Her. Key. He knows in that moment that this is what your  
first smack high must feel like.

He watches as she rises from the table, all cool confidence, and   
announces, "Order me a pair in pink. I'm turning in," and takes a last sip of  
her wine. He watches her, and because he hasn't heard any of the conversation  
around him, he has no idea what it is she wants ordered in pink. But, oh, his head  
is swimming with the possibilities and the images it invokes. He watches as she gathers her things and turns from the table, not looking back, and walks away from him. He's frozen in time, and still trying to process what has just happened when he's aware of some buzz of activity around him. Then, and only then, does he remember that there are others at the table.

He leans down to pick up his backpack and as he reaches for the key, he sees  
it being snatched up from the table. He screams, "NO! WAIT," but no sound  
comes out. Instead he can only utter a weak, "I've got it. It's not a  
problem..." and his heart sinks as he realizes he doesn't have it, and he's  
not going to get it. He watches as Edie runs to catch Donna to give her the  
perceived "forgotten" key. His heart breaks when he sees Donna look back at  
him and he offers a tiny forgive me? smile, and hopes she knows him well enough to  
know that he just wasn't fast enough.

Later, much later, he paces his room as he dials the first few numbers of   
her cell phone several times and aborts the call each time. He paces a few  
more times, runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before  
dialing it completely. He holds his breath when he hears her voice on the  
other end.

Her voice is groggy with sleep, "Hey."

"Hey. I know it's late."

"It's okay."

"Donna, I'm sorry, I'm really, really..."

She stops him. "It's okay, Josh, really."

"I kinda screwed up the whole moment, didn't I?'

She lets out a small laugh, "Ya think?"

And he laughs, too, because he realizes - no, he hopes - she's not upset a  
nd doesn't feel hurt or rejected. "Josh, it's okay that it didn't happen tonight. We've waited so long. We won't die if we have to wait another night, or week, or month, or year."

He lets out a long sigh, and his voice is squeaky. "A year? Donna! I  
might die if I have to wait that long."

"No you won't. I promise. You should go to sleep, Josh. We have a long  
day ahead of us tomorrow."

"'K. I'll see you in the morning."  
"Bright and early."

"Sweet dreams, Donna."

"I'm already having them, Josh."

"Yeah. Me too. G'night, Donna."

He sees her standing in the doorway of her room as he's running down the  
hall toward her. And what a vision she is. Hair framing her face, dressed  
in the tiniest shirt with thin straps and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Years  
of wanting and yearning and waiting dissolve away when he sees that beautiful   
radiant smile, sees her step out of her room and open her arms to reach for  
him, to catch him. And then he's got her in his arms, and he's spinning her  
around and around in the hallway and she's laughing.

When he finally puts her down, she pulls away from him for a moment,   
breathless, "I thought you'd never get here."

"How'd you know I was coming?"

She gasps, feigns shock. "You are?" Then laughs again. He groans, "God, Donna, you look so beautiful. And I, I, ahhhh, I just decided the hell with that waiting another night, week, month, year crap. I don't want to wait another minute."

She smiles. "I knew that. And I know you Joshua Lyman. I knew you'd  
be here, and I want you. Right here, right now."

He groans again. "Um, call me crazy, but shouldn't we, like, go inside  
your room and close the door first?"

Donna frowns, looks around, then pulls him inside and closes and locks  
the door behind them. They look at each other for a long minute and then  
there are those lips again. He knows he'll never erase the memory of their first  
kiss, but this one is different. There's more urgency, more need, and so  
much more promise. His hands are on her face, caressing her softly, then in her  
hair, then pulling her closer and closer, wanting nothing between them. He  
lifts her shirt over her head and feels his breath catch when he sees her for the  
first time. And he knows that every time he sees her like this, for the rest  
of his life, he'll feel that jolt of lightning run through his body. He  
quickly removes his own clothing, and gently lifts her and carries her to the   
bed.

Later, when she's perched above him, as they move together he reaches up  
and pushes her hair back from her face, kisses her gently and whispers, "Now,  
Donnatella. Now is when the real dream begins."

The End


End file.
